


everything's falling, and I am included in that

by okaystop



Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: LA Era (Crooked Media RPF), M/M, Multi, Mutual Pining, Roommates, Sharing Clothes, Sweatshirts, White House Era (Crooked Media RPF)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-02-26 17:37:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23612344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okaystop/pseuds/okaystop
Summary: Okay, just - hear me out - what if the sweatshirt ismagic?
Relationships: Jon Favreau/Jon Lovett/Tommy Vietor
Comments: 35
Kudos: 59
Collections: Crooked Exchange 2020





	everything's falling, and I am included in that

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bitterbeets (ginnydear)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ginnydear/gifts).

> I had a lot of fun writing this, so thank you for such a great prompt to work with. I hope you enjoy this!
> 
> Title is from "Be Be Your Love" by Rachael Yamagata, which can be found, fittingly, on the "Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants" soundtrack.
> 
> Huge thanks to my beta, SelfRescuingPrincess, without whom this would be much much less than what it is.
> 
> \--

**_Lovett_**

The aftermath of an unplanned (and very unexpected!) threesome among friends (and roommates? co-workers? former co-workers?) isn't really something that anyone expects to have to deal with. 

And yet, here they were - Jon, Lovett, and Tommy - attempting to navigate the (very awkward) morning after. Or maybe, Lovett thought, it was only awkward for him. 

After sliding carefully out of the still-occupied bed and heading for the bathroom, Lovett bumped into Tommy, who seemed to be taking up the entire bedroom doorway with his broad chest and big arms and - "sorry, excuse me." He tried to step around Tommy, but Tommy didn't let him pass. "_Tommy_."

"Hey," Tommy said, a dopey, tired smile on his face. "I'm gonna miss you."

Lovett scowled, just a little bit, his brow furrowing as he refused to look up at Tommy. If he did, he might do something stupid like kiss him again. Or turn around and drag him back to the bed where (don't turn around, he told himself) Jon was still sprawled out, asleep, his naked body barely covered by a sheet. At least Tommy had the decency to put on boxers and a shirt. "Shut up," he mumbled.

"I am," Tommy insisted.

Lovett forced a smile and shrugged one shoulder. "There's this wonderful invention," he said, "it's called a telephone. It allows us to talk to each other over vast distances. Like, oh I don't know, all the way across the country. Isn't that handy?"

Tommy put his hand on Lovett's upper arm and squeezed lightly. "It's not the same, man," he said.

He tried not to think about Tommy's hand on his arm. _Still_ on his arm. And also where else that hand had been the night before. "Yeah, well -" Lovett had nothing to say. What was he supposed to say, really? _Thanks for fucking me the night before I move across the country?_ Or what about something like _I'll miss you too_, man,_ but especially your hand on my dick?_ No.

Lovett shook Tommy's hand off his arm and squeezed past him. "I have to pee," he said without looking back. 

Once the bathroom door was closed, Lovett leaned against it and let out a sharp breath.

As he did his business, he could hear Tommy and Jon talking but couldn't make out what they were saying. He turned on the faucet while he did his business, letting the sound drown out the muffled conversation on the other side of the door. He washed his hands and brushed his teeth. When he was done, he held onto the sides of the sink and did a short breathing exercise. _What the fuck?_

The night before had started out like many other nights with the just three of them. Mike and Cody were out - picking up or drinking or something, Lovett didn't know and hadn't asked - which left Tommy and Lovett on their own. They called Jon up to join them and soon he showed up with three six packs of cheap beer and two hot pizzas.

Lovett doesn't know when the direction of the evening shifted. He can't pinpoint anything specific that led to the three of them tumbling into bed together. He isn't even sure he can say with confidence that he remembers everything that happened the night before. 

At some point though, they did all end up in bed together. Lovett had a hickey on his collarbone and a soreness throughout his body that confirmed that much. He just -

"What the fuck?" he asked, out loud, to his reflection in the mirror.

Lovett took another moment, long enough to splash cold water on his face and pat his skin dry with Tommy's bath towel, and also long enough that one of them knocked on the door.

"You all right in there, Lo?" 

Lovett grimaced then opened the door to find himself face to chin with Jon Favreau, who looked very concerned. 

"Yeah, god, can't a guy just use the toilet without it being a whole thing?" He didn't look at him but beyond him down the hall. It was safer that way. His own bedroom door was closed, and he knew that behind it was a stack of boxes that weren't ready to be shipped off yet, but he still had a few hours before he had to worry about that.

"Tom went out on a coffee and donuts run," Jon said.

Lovett nodded. "Cool. Hey, uh, I need to finishing packing and everything -"

Jon, still smiling so fondly that Lovett wanted to melt into an actual puddle of Lovett-goo right there in the hallway, leaned his cheek against the doorframe. "Yeah. Tommy and I will help. We're going to miss you, you know," he said.

"I know," Lovett all but grumbled. He still couldn't look at Jon, at his dark, sad eyes and blinding smile. He couldn't look through Tommy's open bedroom door, where the bed was unmade and messy and where he had, only hours before, been taken care of _very_ well by both Jon and Tommy. "I'll miss you too, _obviously_."

"Obviously," Jon echoed. 

Downstairs, the door opened and closed. "I've got coffee," Tommy yelled up the stairs. "Put some clothes on and claim a donut before they're gone."

Lovett's eyes widened, and he tried not to, but he looked over his shoulder at Cody and O'Neill's bedroom doors, but they were both closed. Jon rubbed his arm. "Don't worry," he said, his thumb making strange circles against the inside of Lovett's elbow. "They both stayed out all night." He turned toward the stairs. "I call Boston cream!" Then he was off, down the stairs, and Lovett was left, off-kilter and confused, in the hallway.

He waited until he heard Tommy yell his name again before sighing. "I'm coming, god, you two -" But first he grabbed a wrinkled charcoal grey sweatshirt he'd picked up somewhere before moving to DC dangling out of a box from his bedroom and shrugged it on. Snug in the soft material, he hurried downstairs, determined to demand the Boston cream donut as soon as he entered the kitchen.

\--

**_Tommy_**

A week after Lovett left, Tommy found Lovett’s grey sweatshirt shoved between the kitchen counter and open laundry room door. His face heated as he remembered how it ended up there. 

They'd meant to just talk over coffee and donuts, on Lovett's last morning in 1309, in D.C. Instead, before the donuts were gone, Tommy had lifted Lovett onto the counter, stripped him of his sweatshirt, chucked it over his head, and was marking up his collarbone and chest. Jon crowded in behind Tommy, hands on his back, his waist, down the front of his thighs. 

Before they could get to the really good stuff (like they had the night before), they'd been interrupted with O'Neil returning home, walk of shame style. He hadn't noticed anything, or at least he hadn't mentioned anything, but it effectively ended whatever the three of them would have ended up doing.

Now, only a few days later, Tommy lifted Lovett's sweatshirt to his nose and breathed in. It smelled musky, a little sweaty, like Lovett after he'd parked himself on the couch for a video game session for a few hours. 

Tommy pulled his phone out of his pocket, intending to call Lovett and let him know that he'd forgotten his sweatshirt, but he saw he had a text from Jon. 

_wanna watch the game w/me? ill bring beer._

Tommy shifted the sweatshirt so it hung over his shoulder, and thumbed along the raised keys on his cell phone to reply. _ok. i have leftover chinese. here or there?_

_cool, omw._

What Tommy should have done was toss the sweatshirt into the laundry, wash it, then send it off to Lovett in California along with a box of other random stuff he'd found over the last three days.

What he did instead, for some inexplicable reason, was put the sweatshirt on. 

Even more inexplicable though, was the fact that the sweatshirt fit him really well. It had been loose on Lovett, sure, but that didn't mean it was Tommy-sized. He expected it to be snug, but he liked the idea of wearing something that Lovett had worn so often, looking so soft, so comfortable. 

And yet -

It fit him. The sleeves hit at the right part of his wrists, the bottom snug where it needed to be. It didn't feel too tight or stretched at the shoulders. Tommy was confused but comfortable, so he left the sweatshirt on and sat on the couch with the book he was slogging through and waited for Jon to show up with the beer.

"Where did you get that sweatshirt?" Jon asked, about half an hour later, as they stood shoulder to shoulder at the kitchen counter and waited for the left-overs to heat up. Jon uncapped a bottle of beer and pushed it into Tommy's hand.

Tommy looked down at it. "It's Lovett's," he said. He felt his cheeks heat under Jon's roaming gaze. "I guess uh - it must be pretty big on him, huh?" Even though Tommy was pretty sure it wasn't, he didn't know how else to explain it.

"It fits you pretty good, Tom," Jon said, his eyes dark.

Tommy decided not to try and parse out what that meant, so he coughed and turned to the beeping microwave. "Have you, uh, talked to Lovett?" he asked. 

"On the phone?" 

Tommy glanced at Jon and shrugged. "Sure, or texting. I mean, he seems to already really like LA." It wasn't a surprise; Lovett had been talking about moving west, trying out screenwriting, Hollywood, for months before finally deciding to do it. Just - Tommy had selfishly hoped that maybe Lovett wouldn't like it _as_ much. 

"Yeah," Jon said. "Andy said he's been going out every night."

Tommy's hand curled tightly around the hot plate he pulled from the microwave and pulled a face. "Wow, that's - good for him. He deserves it." If Tommy's stomach clenched a little as he said it, he couldn't say.

"Yeah," Jon agreed, sounding strange. "I mean, do you think so?"

"Sure." Tommy busied himself with finding them silverware, and he stopped when he felt Jon's palm press firmly between his shoulder blades. He stilled, straightened, then leaned back a tiny bit into Jon's touch. 

"I miss him too," Jon whispered. 

Tommy nodded and held his breath. Jon stepped up behind him. He was inches away from Tommy and could easily have wrapped his arms around Tommy's waist and pulled him flush against him. Tommy wanted him to.

Then the moment broke and they carried their leftovers and beer out to the couch and turned on the game. 

\--

**_Jon_**

Jon couldn't explain why he did it, but about a month after Lovett moved, one evening when he was over at 1309 to watch a movie with the guys, when he spotted Lovett's sweatshirt hanging on the back of Tommy's bathroom door, he took it.

He didn't try it on until he was back at his own apartment, though. He didn't want any of the other guys - Tommy especially - to see him in it. Honestly, Jon wasn't sure what to expect. He'd seen Lovett wear it; it looked warm and comfortable and just the right amount of big on him. But he'd also seen Tommy wear it now, too, and it looked exactly the same way on him. It wasn't like Lovett and Tommy were the same size, at least not close enough that the sweatshirt fit them both the way it did.

So maybe a tiny part of Jon expected it to fit him too, and yet he was still surprised when he tugged it over his head, pulled the sleeves and bottom hem down, and realized it fit him too.

In fact, it fit him really, really well. Just like it had fit Tommy. And Lovett.

"Huh." Jon stood in front of the full-length mirror on his closet door and twisted and turned, feeling a little foolish, but looking for an answer to the question he hadn't really asked yet. _Why did this sweatshirt fit all three of them when, objectively, they really shouldn't be able to share clothes like this?_ He didn't voice the question out loud to himself in the mirror, but he did file it away for thinking about later.

He heated up a frozen dinner and sat with it on the couch. Lovett Facetimed him mid-bite.

"Hey, Lo," Jon greeted fondly. Did he have a goofy smile on his face? Yes, yes he did. He moved his food off to the side and leaned his elbow on the back of the couch so he could rest his chin on his palm while they talked.

"God, your face," Lovett opened with. "Stop smiling like that, Favs, honestly, you could do some real damage." But he was smiling too, until it fell a little, and his brow furrowed. "Hey, is that my sweatshirt?"

"What? No." Jon felt his face heat, and he looked down at the rumpled, worn material. "I mean, yes, it - right, yeah it is. Sorry. You left it at 1309, I guess."

Lovett's face went through a few expressions before he pursed his lips and said, "huh," then moved on to the next topic. "Andy says hi but you probably talk to him more than I do."

"I don't know," Jon moved along with him smoothly, "you’re the one who lives next door to him. Don't you see him when you go out to, like, get your paper or whatever?"

Lovett's smile spread slowly, the way it did usually before a joke he was proud of. "Your mistake is thinking I subscribe to a daily print newspaper." 

Jon laughed, because of course he did. "I don't know. It's pretty easy to imagine you walking out in your slippers and robe and picking up - what then, if not a newspaper?"

"The shoe left behind from last night's grindr date so I can have my very own Cinderella story," Lovett supplied quickly, looking very pleased with himself.

But this one didn't make Jon laugh. Instead, it made his stomach turn over, grumble sourly. He didn't like it at all. He didn't like thinking about Lovett sleeping with West Hollywood men with washboard abs and surfer's tans or with names like Chad or Brad who drank green smoothies and went to the gym, probably. He took too long to respond, so he gave a fake chuckle and forced smile at Lovett, who frowned.

"Why are you wearing my sweatshirt?" he asked.

Jon blinked. "Uh -" He really didn't have a good answer to that, especially because he couldn't explain it himself. He looked down at his lap so he didn't see the inquisitive expression on Lovett's face. He thumbs at the thick folds in the sweatshirt and then, surprised himself with what came out of his mouth: "I miss you."

Lovett's mouth formed an 'o' and he averted his gaze for a half-second. When he looked back at Jon, the apples of his cheeks were pink. Lovett held his breath for a moment. "I miss you too, Jon," he said, uncharacteristically quiet and sincere.

Jon couldn't hold back his smile even if he'd tried. And he certainly didn't want to try. "You do?" Jon asked, teasing (flirting? now, let's not go that far). His cheeks hurt from smiling but he didn't stop.

Lovett put his hand over his whole face. "Stop. Yes, okay? Just - stop looking at me like that. I miss you, okay? God, you knew that. You didn't have to make me say it out loud."

"I like hearing it," Jon whispered. His eyes met Lovett's through the phone, and then they were both smiling.

\--

**_Jon_**

"Wow, Lovett, so good to see you had the foresight to clean before I got here," Jon said dryly as he walked into Lovett's rented house in West Hollywood. The place was a mess, with Diet Coke cans and socks and - were those Lovett's _boxers_? - dirty tissues scattered around.

Lovett flipped him off. "I'm a successful sitcom writer now," he said. "A big-time producer. I don't have time to do something as banal as _cleaning_."

Jon couldn't help but smile. He'd been smiling since his plane touched down at LAX, when he spotted Lovett waiting for him at baggage plane, during the entire traffic-heavy drive to Lovett's house in West Hollywood, and all the way inside until this exact moment. If he were an emoji, he'd probably be the heart-eyes one, and he didn't care who knew it.

"If I'm going to sleep on that couch, I need to at _least_ get rid of the cans." Jon dropped his duffel bag onto the floor and moved forward to start cleaning up himself.

"Ugh, Favs, stop," Lovett groaned, cupping his hand around Jon's elbow. "I'll do it, god. Why aren't you staying with your brother again?"

"Because I like you better?" Jon quipped.

Lovett rolled his eyes. "I doubt it. Okay, look, go - freshen up or whatever beautiful people like yourself need to do after a cross-country plane ride, and I'm going to make sure you have somewhere to sleep where you won't get tetanus." He shuffled over to the couch and started picking up whatever he could reach, gathering soda cans and tissues and a plate into his arms.

Jon bit his tongue to keep his immediate reply inside, then decided what the hell, this was California, why not, and said, "You know, I could just sleep with you."

Lovett promptly dropped half of what he was holding. "Fuck," he hissed.

Jon rocked on the balls of his feet and tried not to look away.

When Lovett straightened and turned toward Jon, his face was red. "Don't joke about something like that," he said, and his tone of voice kept Jon from arguing. 

The thing was, he wasn't joking. He thought Lovett knew that, but apparently he didn't. Jon didn't know what to say, and the moment passed with Lovett shaking his head, turning his back, and returning to cleaning. Jon ducked into the bathroom to splash cold water on his face.

Later, when Lovett suggested venturing out for tacos, Jon rummaged through his duffel for something warmer to wear. "You should have warned me that it got colder here at night than I expected," he grumbled.

"It's practically the desert, Favs, what did you expect? Sunshine twenty-four-seven? The sun sets even in Los Angeles."

"Something like that," he mumbled. He tossed a few things behind him onto the couch before finding what he was looking for - 

"Hey, my sweatshirt! Thanks for bringing it." Lovett reached for it even as Jon held on tighter than he meant to, out of instinct. He didn't know if he was ready to give up the sweatshirt yet. When Lovett tugged, confused, Jon let go. 

"Yeah, no problem," he said. His fingers flexed as the soft fabric left them, and he clenched his fist at his side. "Sorry we - I - hung onto it for so long." He hoped Lovett didn't notice his slip-up with 'we.' He didn't want to implicate Tommy here in anything when he wasn't around to defend himself.

But Lovett was already stuffing himself into the sweatshirt. "What? No, I didn't expect you to, like, ship it or anything. But thanks. This is my comfiest sweatshirt, and I missed it." 

Jon almost said that he knew that, but he didn't want to admit how often he had been wearing it since Lovett left. Instead, he blinked, rubbed his palm across his mouth, and stared at Lovett as he adjusted the sweatshirt.

"Oh good, you didn't stretch it out or anything," he said. He smiled at Jon, whose face was red. 

It was something notable, that for all the wear of the shirt, it still fit Lovett like it always did. It made him look soft, cuddly, and Jon held his arms stiffly at his sides to keep from doing something about it, like pulling Lovett in against him. He remembered how he fit, and he wanted it again, but Lovett was swiping his keys off the counter and opening the front door.

"Tacos, Jon. I need tacos. Let's go."

Of course Jon followed him.

\--

**_Tommy_**

Tommy craned his neck back and reached for the bottle of beer Jon extended out to him. He tipped it toward him as Jon sat on the lounger next to him. The early evening Los Angeles air was warm and sweet, hanging hazily in a sky streaked with oranges and pinks. Tommy sipped the beer slowly and turned his head to look at Jon, his best friend."I've been thinking more about what you said, about how I should move out here too."

Jon smiled lazily at him. "Yeah? I mean, what are you even still doing in DC. I'm here. Lovett's across the street. You know -"

"Have you and he -?" Tommy started to ask, trailing off to make a facial expression that he hoped got the question across without having to actually put it to words.

Jon breathed out. "No, man. He thought I was joking with him the first time I brought it up so I haven't since. I would have told you, and besides -" He naturally leaned a little towards Tommy, eyes bright. "I'm not sure I wanna do that unless you're here too. So if you think you're gonna move out here…"

Tommy rubbed the back of his neck, fingers cool with the condensation from his beer. When he thought about him being with Jon, (in those rare times that he did over the last two years) he thought about Lovett being there too. Separately, he could see Jon and Lovett together without him. It ached, that thought, but he didn't know how to voice that. Except - "You want to do this, the three of us?"

"Yeah, I do," Jon said quickly. "I mean if you and Lovett want to." The way Jon pulled his lower lip between his teeth and shifted his eyes away made Tommy want to reach out to him, but he clenched his fist at his side instead and looked out at the darkening sky.

He considered what Jon said for a moment. He could see it, moving out to California, with the sunshine, the really delicious tacos, their company, Jon, Lovett - 

Then, before he could stop himself, he reached out and touched Jon's forearm, letting his fingers brush down to his wrist. "We need to talk to Lovett."

Jon looked at him. "Yeah. Okay." He swallowed, and Tommy rubbed his thumb across Jon's knuckles, slipped his hand into his. He squeezed gently. "He said he was gonna try to come over whenever he's out of the writer's room."

"Good," Tommy said. He didn't pull his hand away from Jon's. "Hey, man, I -" The words caught in his throat. He loved Jon. Jon knew that. They'd been friends for years. It was part of who they were together, but something had changed that night in DC, Lovett's last night with them. They hadn't talked about it, hadn't acted on it again, and yet. He wanted Jon to _know_ \- 

These feelings Tommy had, they weren't just because Jon was his best friend, his bro. They were more than that, and sure, they could go on burying that deep and decide that what happened on Lovett's last night in DC was because of _Lovett_, but the truth was, Tommy didn't want to. He just didn't know how to say it.

Jon nodded. "Yeah, Tom, me too."

His heart thumped in his tightening chest. This was a moment when, like he's done so many other times before, Tommy would have gone back to his beer, cutting the moment off as though it didn't happen. But he didn't want to do that. Maybe it was the warm California air, or the lack of White house responsibilities and scrutiny, or maybe it was the knowledge that this was a thing they both wanted to do. 

But regardless of what it was, Tommy felt confident in his decision to set his bottle down, turn around on the lounge chair, and reach out to take Jon's face in his hands. "Hey," he said.

Jon echoed him, looking up with dark, inviting eyes. 

Tommy tilted his face up and kissed him, slowly, almost like he was worried Jon might pull away. Neither of them pulled away. Jon moaned, deep in his throat. Tommy leaned over to him, inching closer to the edge of the lounge. He steadied himself but Jon squeezed the back of his neck and urged him forward, over to him. Right into his lap.

"Yes," Tommy breathed out. He kissed Jon again, straddling him, his knees tight against the tops of his thighs. He opened his mouth, tasted the beer on Jon's lips, took his time to get to know what it was like to kiss Jon. Had he kissed him last time, in D.C. with Lovett? He couldn't remember. He must have. They hadn't just ambushed Lovett and stayed six feet apart the entire night. Yet, he thought he should be able to remember. How could he ever forget what Jon's mouth - hot, slow, perfect - tasted like?

"God, Tom," Jon said, wrenching his mouth away to gasp and speak, voice hoarse. "Why the fuck haven't we been doing this for years?"

Tommy shook his head, having no answer to that because he was thinking the same thing. Instead, he kissed Jon again, shifting so that he could press himself flush against him - chest, hips, thighs - which was really, really doing it for him. He was getting hard, and he knew Jon could feel it, and he didn’t care. Jon gripped Tommy's hip and squeezed, fingers pressing in hard enough, Tommy thought, to leave bruises. 

"Look, I know I'm later than I said I'd be, and I don't even have a good excuse except to say that I don't have a clock in my office. So to make up for it, I brought - " Lovett's rambling cut off abruptly, and Tommy pulled back from Jon belatedly enough (not to mention that they were still tangled up together right there on the back patio) that there was little confusion of what Tommy and Jon had been doing.

Really, enough time passed between when Lovett's presence was first known and when he appeared through the patio door that Tommy and Jon could have extricated themselves from one another. The fact that neither of them made any move to had less to do with them not wanting to be apart and more to do with ripping the Band-Aid of - "how to talk to Lovett about entering into some kind of polyamorous boyfriends relationship with them" - off.

"What the actual _fuck_ -" Lovett bit off, his tone harsh in a way that wasn't normal for him.

That caught Tommy's attention, and he snapped his head away from Jon's dopey smile and over to Lovett, who stood in the doorway, hands at his sides holding two large bags of take-out, wearing that damn sweatshirt and looking all worn and rumply, hair curling around his ears. Tommy's mouth went dry, and he scrambled off of Jon, painfully aware of the way they both looked at the moment. 

"How long has this been going on?" Lovett continued on, sounding angry. Legitimately angry.

"What?" Jon said inelegantly as he got to his feet beside Tommy, who wanted to reach a hand out and touch his back, but he kept his arms crossed over his chest.

"No," Tommy said decisively. "I mean, it hasn't. This isn't something we've been - doing behind your back. This is the first time since -"

"Since?" Lovett echoed, his voice going a little higher, both in pitch and volume. He bent awkwardly to set the bags down at his feet so he could gesture wildly at the both of them. "You said this isn't something you've been doing behind my back. You can't have it both ways!"

"Lovett," Jon said, his voice a nervous kind of panicked that Tommy hated to hear. "_Jon_." Desperate now. Tommy reached for his hand, wrapped his fingers around his wrist, held on to him.

"Since the three of us," Tommy said, trying to keep his voice steady. "Since the night before you left - " _Us_ " - DC."

Lovett's eyes went wide. He shook his head. "Bullshit."

Jon stepped forward but Tommy squeezed his wrist and he went still. "Can you come over here, Lovett?" he asked. When Lovett didn't move, it sounded like Jon growled. Tommy squeezed his hand again, calming. "Lovett, please. We - that is, me and Jon - and you. This is the three of us, okay?"

"Yeah," Jon said, the word swallowed off at the end. 

"The three of us," Lovett echoed. The expression on his face twisted a little bit. "What does that even _mean_?"

A laugh bubbled up out of Jon. "I don't know. We don't know." He pulled his hand away from Tommy's and crossed the small patio to get to Lovett. He put his hands on both his upper arms. "All I know is this: Tommy and me -" He glanced over his shoulder, a small smile on his face. "We wouldn't want to do anything without you, unless you're with us."

"Don't be ridiculous," Lovett said, but he didn't sound as angry, or sure, as he was before. 

Tommy walked over to them both but stayed a step or so away. He didn't want to get too close and have Lovett retreat. He didn't want to crowd him. He wanted to give them all enough time, and space, to figure this out. "We're not being ridiculous, Jon," he said quietly. "But we are doing this all wrong." Jon looked at him, concern across his face. 

Tommy stepped closer and slid a hand over his arm. Carefully. Slowly, in case Lovett gave him some sign that he needed to back off. When Lovett didn't move or object, Tommy reached out and tugged on a fold in Lovett's sweatshirt. "We like you. And we miss you. And we like each other. And we're pretty sure you like us too, so what we're asking is -"

"Do you want to be our boyfriend?" Jon blurted out, the words a slurred mess of excitement and hope.

"What?" Lovett squawked.

Tommy tugged on the sweatshirt to get Lovett's attention. "Hey. Jon. Look at me. We're not joking about this. We aren't, like, going to start laughing or say this was all a big prank. We mean it. We meant it in DC and we mean it here. Date us. Be our boyfriend. All of us, together."

After too long of a moment, watching Lovett's face, his cheeks tighten and relax and his gaze darting around them without settling on them, Lovett looked between the two of them. "Fuck, you're serious. That night in DC - it wasn't just - some weird fever dream or whatever? Like - alcohol played a part but it wasn't - you aren't both like having crises over here and you actually want - all of this?"

"Yeah, man," Tommy said, pushing all his sincerity into his tone, "we really want this. You - us."

Lovett looked a little dazed, shifting his gaze from Jon to Tommy and back again. "I mean, I'd be the biggest idiot in the world if I said no to this."

"Don't say yes just because saying no would be idiotic," Tommy said quickly, worry spreading through his stomach, up his throat. "If you don't like us back -"

"Shut your mouth," Lovett snapped, but the corner of his mouth was twisting up teasingly. "Or - put it to better use, Thomas, won't you?"

Tommy rolled his eyes - what else did he expect out of Lovett, even during as serious a conversation as this - but he couldn't say no to that. He reached out to touch Lovett's cheek, angled his face up so that Tommy could lean in and press his mouth against Lovett's. Beside them, Jon groaned like he'd been punched in the stomach. Tommy reached blindly for his hand and laced their fingers together. 

Lovett's eyes were dark when he pulled back, and when he opened his mouth to say something but Jon, impatient that he was, lurched forward to kiss him too. Lovett sputtered a little, and Tommy rubbed his thumb along the line of Lovett's jaw to help him relax. He took the chance to watch the picture that Jon and Lovett made. It made butterflies take flight in his stomach, in the very best of ways.

"We should," Tommy tried to say, but it came out into a cough. His cheeks heated when Jon and Lovett broke their kiss and looked at him expectantly. He tried again. "We should move this inside."

It took a moment but then both of them - both of his _boyfriends_ \- agreed with him, and they all hurried inside together.

\--

**_Lovett_**

The first thing Lovett noticed when he emerged from the bedroom to find Jon watching Tommy cook breakfast was that Tommy was wearing his sweatshirt. And, it looked like nothing else (no, Lovett corrected himself, spying a line of dark blue under the hem, he at least had briefs on), because when Lovett dropped his gaze, it settled on the backs of Tommy's strong thighs and down to his well-defined calves. 

He swallowed hard and had to reach out to touch the wall, steadying himself.

This wasn't like the last time, when Lovett had to finish packing, and he was worried about what their roommates would think, or what the fuck any of that even was the night before - this morning was different. He could unabashedly look at the back of Tommy's thighs and the way Jon's t-shirt revealed his collarbone. He didn't have to make excuses, either out loud or in his head, about what had happened. He could have this, he thought. It was his to reach out and take and hold on to.

Jon said something that Lovett didn't listen to, too busy staring at the backs of Tommy's thighs, and Tommy laughed. He seemed to spot Lovett out of the corner of his eye and turned to face him, grinning. "Hey, good morning. Your coffee's on the counter. Do you want blueberries in your pancakes?"

Lovett nodded, taking a moment to appreciate the picture before him. Tommy wearing his sweatshirt, Jon in a tight vee-neck t-shirt and loose sweats standing beside him, both of them with their full attention now on Lovett. "Yeah," Lovett said. "Blueberries are great. Pancakes are great." 

"Great," Tommy said, laughing, looking delighted as he turned back to the stove. "Coming right up."

Jon came over to Lovett before Lovett could move away from the wall and join them in the kitchen. He leaned in and kissed Lovett. "Morning, Lo," he said. "We're glad you're here."

If this is what it was going to be like with them, Lovett wasn't too sure he'd survive. "I mean, I should probably go home and change my clothes or like shower or something."

"You can shower here," Jon said quickly. "And I have clothes you can wear."

"Or," Lovett said, biting his tongue as he considered whether to continue or not, "I could just have my sweatshirt back? I mean, I don't know how it looks so good on you too, Tommy, but it _is_ mine."

Tommy shoveled the pancakes from the pan onto a plate and set the spatula down. "Because Iit's a magic sweatshirt," he said with no hint of sarcasm in his voice at all.

"Yeah," Lovett scoffed, "okay. _Any_way."

Tommy set a plate out for each of them along the breakfast bar. His brow furrowed, eyebrows all scrunchy, like he used to get before press briefings. "It is," he said seriously. "There's no reason why it should fit all of us perfectly, and it does. So, I think it's really _our_ sweatshirt now, not just yours."

Lovett frowned, but he didn't object. Instead, he let his eyes go back to Tommy's thighs under the hem of the sweatshirt before jerking his gaze up to his face. Tommy looked at him, cheeks pinked. He held the maple syrup in one hand.

Laughing, Jon slid an arm around him and nudged him toward the breakfast counter. "And it looks really good on Tommy, doesn't it?" he asked, his mouth so close to Lovett's ear that his breath was warm and tickled.

"Yeah, okay, you win. You both win. We can share the damn sweatshirt." He slid up onto the middle stool, Jon next to him.

Tommy pressed a kiss to the top of Lovett's head and one to Jon's temple before he sat down. He poured a very generous amount of syrup over his pancakes before passing it along and picking up his fork.

"Wait," Lovett blurted out. "Don't get syrup on the sweatshirt," he said. "Take it off!"

Tommy blinked at him. On his other side, Jon threw his head back and laughed, leaning into Lovett. "Yeah, Tom," he said, "take it off."

"I'm not - wearing anything under it," Tommy mumbled.

Lovett fish-mouthed then recovered. "That's okay," he said, sharing a look at Jon, whose dark eyes sparkled. "No shirt, that's a-okay with us." He poked at Tommy's bicep and tugged on the sweatshirt.

"Okay, all right, I'll take it off." He did, gently folding it into a neat square and setting it on the edge of the counter. "Happy now?"

"Oh yeah," Lovett said. "Now _this_ is a magical breakfast, you know. Me, sitting here between my boyfriends, one shirtless and the other who can't seem to keep his hands to himself." He looked down at his leg, where Jon's hand had made its way up his thigh to settle there, fingers long and curled. "Yeah, I think I could get used to this."

"Good," Jon said, "because we're not going anywhere."

**Author's Note:**

> Any reaction is always appreciated. Kudos, comments, etc. Thank you for reading!


End file.
